The lower depths
by Na.Shao
Summary: "Death is inside the bones, / [...] growing in the damp air like tears of rain." (Nothing but death - Pablo Neruda). There are collisions in the dark, and his heart is on the line. (A collection of drabbles focusing on Remus coming to terms with Sirius' death.)
1. Chapter 1

**Blabla:** okay, so, basically, rewatching all the films with a friend made me discover how much I love these two, and I cannot seem to stop writing about them. I hope it's not too bad; enjoy these drabbles. I've been having a ridiculous amount of feelings about Remus dealing with Sirius' death and the aftermath of the fifth book/film.

About the **disclaimer**, _Harry Potter_ belongs to J.K Rowling; I'm only borrowing them for my entertainment.

* * *

Remus forces his tea down his throat and even the slight burn is nothing compared to the well of sadness and hurt eating his stomach—he feels like a shell of his former self, a shell lost between grey and blue, and the only colour popping up on his face is the reddening tone of pink covering his cheeks with the touch of cold, chilly mornings. The days are pieces of split hours stitched with veins, muscles, blood and emotions he cannot seem to fathom, and the dust covers everything—his fingers shake so much more than he wishes them to.

_He's gone._


	2. Through fog and stones

**Blabla: **I love writing Remus so much it hurts, damn it.

This drabble and what will follow are dedicated to **Marilou,** who's an awesome lady that totally rocks.

* * *

It's a cold, hard moon that blooms, that day, and the rays of faint light carve blue shadows into the wooden floor. The walls are layers of frozen memories and the paint is slowly fading away, some bits scratched away by Remus himself at the hardest of times, when pain got the best of him, of his mind, of his body.

He looks at his bluish reflection in the mirror that stands at the corner of the room, and he notices the grey locks running through his brown hair, the purple lines underneath his eyes.

_Sirius is not coming back._


	3. There were grief and ruins

**Blabla: **I usually do not enjoy angst so much, but, I don't know; pain(s) can be fascinating, as much as they hurt.

Once again, **Marilou**, this is for you!

* * *

Sometimes, Remus feels like death is mocking him, poking at his guts with so much strength that he cannot handle it. There's not much he can handle these days, anyway; and nothing really shakes him out of his state: he keeps staring at walls and books as if they were ghosts, his many different cups of tea always long forgotten in a corner—only the cool touch of the brown beverage and the slight bitterness make him realise that time passes, that seconds add to minutes and hours; suddenly, it's nighttime, and his head hurts as much as his heart.


	4. Tinged by grief

**Blabla:** I feel like all of this angst I'm writing is getting the best of me, damn.

* * *

He could somehow feel Sirius' smile wash over him, his lips pursed in a relaxed line, and yellow lights filtered through the dusty curtains, little dots of colour splattered all over the dark shades of the walls.

Remus could hear the distinct sound of the rain, outside, the distinct touch of the chilly wind he'd grown used to, and felt the shadows progress up in the sky, masking the grey clouds; it wouldn't be long until nightfall, until his bones would grow cold with the dampness swirling in the air.

He remembered Kingsley say, _"you don't look well,"_ and, _"you should sleep,"_ but he couldn't just go to bed and sleep it all away. It wouldn't change anything: Sirius' body wouldn't press against his back during the night, and Sirius would still be dead when he would wake up.

Nothing would ever be the same, and he knew it.

Remus drew the curtain back and let his figure fall on his chair; dropping his wand on the old, wooden table, his face fell into his open hands.


	5. Laced with frost

**Blabla: **sometimes, I wish I weren't so keen on making Remus that depressed. Unfortunately, I quite enjoy it. I'm such an awful person.

Marilou, as usual, thank you for your reviews and your beautiful words. They mean the world to me :)

* * *

Molly brushed off the dust powdered over his face and involuntary smeared more blood on his skin, which seemed to get paler and paler the more days passed.

Remus' hair was a mess of wet, brown, grayish curls that kept falling over his eyes that were circled with blue and yellow, and the fresh scars looked darker as shadows hid the crease of his brows.

_Another attack, and he had escaped death again. How unfair was that? Was it worth going on, was it worth seeing people die around him?_

"You know it always matters," Sirius' voice echoed in his mind. "It's always worth the suffering."

Remus glanced around; only saw Molly gathering a first aid kit. He could have sworn that he had felt Sirius' hand on his shoulder, just now.


End file.
